Street fighter

6

Dusk had closed over Rome by the time Marcus felt his way into the slave cell and dropped on his bedroll, exhausted. He touched the sore spots on his arms and chest where Festus had struck him during training and winced. There would be many more bruises in the days ahead. He lay on his back and shut his eyes. How he wished for his comfortable bed on the farm, with his mother and Titus asleep in the next room. Free to roam his father’s land and play with Cerberus. He even missed helping the shepherd round up the goats and then sitting and watching over them as Aristides hummed a tune from the shade of an olive tree. At the time he’d found it boring, but how peaceful it had been — he hadn’t even realized his own happiness.

The sound of shuffling steps and low muttering disturbed his sleep and his eyes flickered open. Sitting up with a start, he saw two shadows heading past his bedroll towards the far end of the cell.

‘Sorry,’ Lupus muttered. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’

Marcus eased himself back on to one elbow and twisted round towards them as the two boys slumped on to their bedrolls. ‘You’re late to bed. What’s up?’

‘Flaccus, that’s what,’ Corvus growled. ‘He had the two of us scouring the storeroom floor. Rats had left droppings everywhere. Took forever to clean the place.’

‘That’s why I was roped in,’ Lupus added.

‘But not you, Marcus, eh?’ Corvus complained. ‘Seems you’re special. You’re in the master’s good books. Lucky you.’

Marcus ignored the sneering tone. ‘I’m still a slave, like you.’

‘Well, there are slaves and there are slaves,’ Corvus continued. ‘Kitchen boys like me, and scribes like Lupus here, and others like you.’

‘How am I different?’ asked Marcus.

‘You’re training to be Mistress Portia’s protector, right?’

‘Yes, so?’

‘So you get better food than us, and you’re favoured by the master. It’s different for the likes of us. We work in the kitchen from before first light until nightfall, later if the master has guests. I doubt he even knows I exist, so there’s never a small reward or a tip for me. That’s how we’re different.’

‘From what I heard,’ Lupus interrupted, ‘Caesar has you marked down to be one of his gladiators when you’re old enough.’

‘I’m already a gladiator,’ Marcus replied.

‘You?’ Corvus laughed. ‘You’re still a boy. How can you be a gladiator?’

‘I was trained at a school near Capua.’

‘Have you ever been in a fight?’ asked Lupus, sitting up and hugging his knees. ‘You know, in the arena?’

‘Once.’

‘What was it like?’

Marcus was silent for a moment as he recalled the moment he had entered Porcino’s small arena and walked across the sand to present himself to the wealthy Romans who had paid for a private show: four pairs of men and two boys, chosen to fight to the death. The memory filled his mind so vividly that he could recall the terror in his limbs, the sick feeling in his clenched stomach and the clammy sweat on his brow, even though the day had been chilly. Up above, in the box, the Romans laughed, snacked and placed their bets. He recalled that Caesar was busy chatting to a companion and had acknowledged the salute of Marcus and his opponent, Ferax, with a disdainful wave of his hand. Portia had been there too, though unlike the others, there seemed some pity in her eyes as she watched the spectacle. Then came the moment when Marcus turned to face Ferax and he recalled the fierce, cruel gleam in the young Gaul’s eyes as he announced, in a low contemptuous growl, that he would kill Marcus. That had been the worst moment of all. Even now he shuddered.

‘What was it like? I have never been more afraid of anything in my life.’ Marcus spoke softly. ‘There are no words to describe it. Just be grateful you have never had to live through it for yourself. ’

There was a brief silence before Corvus snorted. ‘Gladiators are supposed to be tough!’

‘Be quiet,’ Lupus said irritably. ‘Marcus has faced death. He knows.’

‘Then lucky him. If Fortuna smiles on him he’ll be dead before he’s twenty or he’ll have won his freedom. Not like us, my friend. We were born into slavery and we’ll be nothing more than common slaves until the day we die, or the master throws us out in the street to find our own graves. Ours is a living death. Your mate over there will never know what that means.’

Marcus listened to the exchange with a growing sense of bitterness. Unlike the other boys, he had been born free and lived free for the first ten years of his life. He knew what had been taken from him and felt that loss keenly, every day. He rolled on to his front and propped himself on his elbows, so he could face the others more directly.

‘Do you not hope for freedom? Don’t you even dream about it?’

‘Why bother?’ Corvus sniffed. ‘I can never buy my freedom. There’s no chance of coming to the master’s attention through hard work or loyal service. Nothing I do can change things. This cell, the kitchen and slaves like you are all I will ever know. The only thing that matters is keeping your head down to avoid being beaten.’

‘What about you, Lupus?’ Marcus asked. ‘Do you have no hope?’

The scribe was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘There’s always hope. I’ve a plan. I can read, write and add up. If I work hard as Caesar’s scribe, then he might reward me one day. I know others in my position have managed to save enough to buy their freedom. If they can do it, then so can I.’

‘And then what?’ sneered Corvus. ‘After a lifetime slaving for Caesar, and having paid him for the privilege, then what will you do?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Perhaps I’ll also try to save enough to buy myself a small inn, close to the Great Circus. There’re always hungry mouths at the races. I can make a decent living and buy a few slaves of my own.’

What hope was there that slavery might end if the slaves themselves looked forward to being masters? Marcus sighed inwardly, but said nothing. He knew many slaves were like Corvus, unlikely to stir themselves if it meant adding to their existing hardship. Then there were the others, in vast chain-gangs, worked until they dropped and too exhausted to think beyond surviving the next day. He couldn’t bear to think of his mother enduring that. Perhaps Brixus had been right after all, he thought. Of all the evils in the world, slavery was the worst. To end it was the one cause worth fighting for, and dying for, if it came to that. He turned his attention back on his companions.

‘If you both hate slavery so much, then why don’t you do something about it?’

‘What?’ Corvus laughed. ‘Has all that fighting knocked the wits out of you? We’re just household slaves. There’s nothing we can do but endure it.’

‘You could fight it,’ Marcus suggested softly, in case he was overheard by anyone in the corridor outside. ‘You wouldn’t be the first slaves to defy their master. It’s been done before.’

There was a nervous pause before Lupus spoke up. ‘You’re talking about Spartacus, aren’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘You should be careful what you say,’ Lupus hissed. ‘If Flaccus heard you he’d have you beaten. The gods know what Caesar would do if he found out. It was his friend, that Crassus, who crucified the slave rebels along the Appian Way. Is that what you want for yourself, Marcus?’

Marcus had heard of the terrible punishment imposed by Crassus, a man who was now the ally of Caesar, and apparently of Decimus too. Much as he’d come to admire his new master, Marcus was wary of his ambitions, and of those men Caesar called his friends. He was silent for a moment before he continued.

‘But what if Spartacus had won? You’d be free to do as you wanted, both of you. Isn’t that something worth fighting for?’

‘Maybe. But Corvus is right, there’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘Not alone,’ Marcus replied. ‘But there are slave bands in the hills and mountains, survivors of the rebellion, and those who escaped to join them. What’s to stop us doing the same?’

‘What’s the point?’ asked Corvus. ‘Why run away and live the rest of your life in some damp cave, always living in fear of the day you’re caught and punished? If that’s what you mean by freedom you can keep it.’

‘But what if there was a new leader to unite those bands of slaves?’ Marcus suggested. ‘A man like Spartacus? Someone who could train them how to fight the Roman legions, as he did?’

‘Spartacus is dead,’ Corvus said bluntly. ‘There is no one to replace him. The bands of slaves will be hunted down and destroyed one by one. That’s the truth of it, my gladiator friend. But if you’re so keen, why don’t you become the new Spartacus, eh? Take up the challenge. Be the champion of the downtrodden, and put an end to the greatest empire in the world while you’re at it.’ He laughed again, a hollow unpleasant laugh. ‘I’m tired. So is Lupus. We need to sleep. Keep your fancy dreams to yourself, Marcus.’

Corvus settled down and curled into a ball under his blanket. Lupus stayed sitting for a moment before he whispered, ‘Could it be done? Another revolt? Could we win next time?’

Marcus took a deep breath and sighed. ‘I really don’t know. .’

‘A pity,’ Lupus muttered. ‘I’d have liked to know what it is to be free.’

He lowered himself down and began to breathe deeply, then started to snore. Once again, Marcus felt sleep wouldn’t be so easy for him. He turned on to his back and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.